Dating the President
by Rowen-bsg
Summary: Just how do you go about wooing the President when you're the Admiral of the Fleet?
1. Dinner

**Dating the President**

Just how do you go about wooing the President when you're the Admiral of the Fleet?

Set just after the season 3 episode: "Dirty Hands". In this world, none of the episodes after that exist.

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Chapter 1 - Dinner

The meeting was dragging on. And on. And still on. Admiral of the Fleet, William Adama, freely admitted to himself he was bored. Extremely bored. Bored to the point of falling asleep bored. He was sure if the meeting had been between just himself and the President, they could have had the details sensibly hammered out in an hour.

The delegation of ship captains weren't really adding anything to the discussion except an annoyance factor. Throw in Tigh, Helo and Jack Cottle, and you just got a headache-inducing shit-fight. He wondered if it was too late to volunteer for janitorial duties as a career path. **Anything** had to be better than this.

None of this showed on his face, of course: forty-five years in Colonial Fleet had honed his military mask to the edge of perfection. Not to mention his keen sense of self-preservation: Laura would do all sorts of unpleasant things to him if he put his head back and started snoring in the middle of her meeting. Air locking came predominately to mind.

He looked across the room at Laura Roslin, who seemed to be intently listening to the captain of the Virgon Trader. Seemed being the operative word, he realized as he watched her fidget: it looked like she was bored too. He watched her fold and refold her legs; chew her pen; fiddle with her bracelet; brush back her hair; stretch her legs under the table. Those nice, shapely legs that were displayed nicely thanks to her suit skirt and the angle at which he was sitting. He realized he was staring at said legs, but couldn't seem to help it. At least he wasn't falling asleep, he shrugged to himself.

Helo made a point, stabbing his finger at one of the captains for emphasis. A controversial point, by the sounds of it, as the room erupted into chaos.

Laura sat back in her chair, letting it continue while she took off her glasses, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked tired - she hadn't complained, but he knew she wasn't comfortable in her "temporary" quarters aboard Colonial One. And so far she hadn't take him up on his… offer.

He smiled at that thought: it had been a slip of the tongue on his part, saying she was welcome in "one of his beds."

'A very telling slip of the tongue, Bill,' he told himself. It had been something of a moment of revelation. While he'd been trying to throw obstacles in the path of a relationship with Laura, it seemed part of him had already decided he wanted it to happen. He recalled the expression on her face at his slip: a combination of amusement and mischief. And a thoroughly lovely smile. A smile he'd give a lot to see on a regular basis.

She chose that moment to open her eyes and look directly at him. He knew he had a soft, tender smile on his face, but he didn't try to hide it. Instead, he held her gaze, letting her see what she would in his expression. Her eyes widened fractionally, then a warm smile spread across her face, lighting her eyes. The moment held until by some unspoken mutual agreement, both looked away and schooled their expressions back to professional neutrality.

Bill felt a massive dislocation in his world: as if it had been stretched to its limits, then let free to realign itself, but it didn't quite fit the way it used to.

There were no doubts left: he wanted to pursue this relationship.

-------------

It was easier said than done, of course. How did one go about dating the most important woman in the Fleet, anyway?

The business of running the Fleet had to come first. No question on that. But Bill hadn't realized just how scheduled and managed both their lives were until he tried to find a time when they could meet for dinner and not have business intrude. In the end, he had to enlist Tory's aid.

"I'd like to arrange for a dinner meeting between myself and the President," he told her over the phone.

"Of course, Admiral," she agreed. He could hear her flipping through the President's agenda. It wasn't that unusual a request, after all: they'd often shared working dinners. "I can shift things around for tomorrow evening."

"That would be acceptable."

"Galactica or Colonial One?"

Now for the delicate part. He cleared his throat.

"Ah… actually, the Rising Star."

"Oh?" he could picture her raised eyebrow. "Is there a problem on the Rising Star I should brief the President on beforehand?"

"No… This is… a dinner date." There, he'd said it.

He fancied he could hear Tory's mouth closing with a snap.

"Oh."

"And I'd appreciate it if you didn't schedule any meetings for her afterwards: she needs an evening off."

"I… ah… Yes, Admiral." She still sounded stunned. He didn't want to know what was currently running through her mind.

Now for the hard part: he hadn't asked a woman out on a date for a long, long time.

"Could you connect me to the President, please?"

"Hi." Her greeting seemed to warm the room. He pictured her sitting back in her chair in that cramped temporary office on Colonial One with a smile on her face.

"Hi yourself," he responded. He wondered if he could hear the smile in his voice.

A soft "thump" then a second one sounded over the line.

"Did you just kick off your shoes?" he asked.

"Mmm-hmm," she replied. It sounded like she was stretching, too.

"Tory just high-tailed it out of here with the oddest expression on her face, so I have this "office" to myself for the moment."

"My fault," he admitted. "I had an… unusual request. I think it threw her."

"Oh?" she sounded intrigued. "You'll have to let me in on your secret. I've seen her face down Cylons, politicians, the press and children; nothing seems to faze her. I was beginning to think she was completely unflappable."

Crunch time.

"I… ah… Would you like to have dinner with me?"

There was silence for a moment. Stunned silence, he assumed. Whether that was good or bad…

"Are you asking me out on a date, Bill?" Her voice had dropped a couple of tones in pitch and sounded very… He deliberately didn't finish that thought.

"Only if you're saying yes," he replied, undoing a few buttons on his jacket.

"Yes."

Could it be that easy?

"Yes?" he repeated, making sure.

"Yes. What - did you thing I was going to say no?" He could hear the chuckle in her voice. "Where and when did you want me?"

Oh, she did that deliberately. He loosened the rest of the buttons on his tunic as his mind began to think of all sorts of answers for that question. With some very, very vivid pictures. It definitely felt like the cabin had suddenly grown warmer.

"Twenty hundred tomorrow night at Rhapsody." Realizing she might not know it, he began elaborating: "It's a restaurant…"

"On the Rising Star. Yes; I know." She sounded surprised. "So this will be a real 'dating' type date?"

"I hope so," he said softly.

Another pause.

"You realize that we **will** be seen."

It sounded like she was giving him a way out, if he wanted to take it.

"Yes," he said deliberately. He let her think on that for a moment, then added: "And that all the gossip rags will go wild. Yes, I know all that. But I'm not going to sneak around, hiding things."

There was silence on the other end of the line. He sensed that she was digesting the implications of his acceptance that any relationship would be in the public eye.

"And those responsibilities of ours you were so worried about the other day?"

"We'll just have to schedule around them."

-------------

Rhapsody was as elegant as any five star restaurant in Caprica city, Bill decided as the Maitre 'D led him through the candle-lit room to a secluded corner table. Despite his civilian garb, the other diners obviously recognized him and he could hear a ripple of whispers in his wake. He ignored them, just as he would have ignored gossiping crewmen on his own ship. Instead, he allowed the waiter to seat him and take his order for a drink; something with which to occupy him while he waited for Laura to arrive. He resisted the urge to fiddle with the unfamiliar collar of his shirt: mentally, he knew it wasn't really too tight. It just felt that way. He felt odd, being out of uniform, as if his armor had been stripped away. His choice of clothes wasn't so much a disguise as a statement about his intentions. Tonight, he wasn't the CO of Galactica, or the President's senior military commander: tonight he was simply William Adama. Someone he hadn't been since before the attack on the Colonies.

He glanced about the restaurant again, noticing the heads whipping away from his gaze as their owners were caught staring. It caused a genuine smile to appear on his lips: it seemed everyone was **very** curious as to who his date might be.

Laura's arrival a few minutes later caused a moment of absolute silence, followed by an excited buzz of conversation. She was surrounded by her security detail, who peeled off at intervals to cover the restaurant. He was glad she had brought them: dispensing with them while she was aboard Galactica was one thing, but the Rising Star was an unsecured location. He wanted to date Laura, not the President, but knew some aspects of **both** their jobs were likely to intrude: like her security.

He watched her follow the Maitre D with calm assurance, nodding to the occasional staring patron. Of course, **he** was staring too. And with good reason.

Gone was the tailored jacket and skirt; in its place an elegant black dress that showed a nice amount of leg and just a hint of cleavage. Form fitting and sexy but classy at the same time. And completely Laura Roslin. He wondered where the hell she'd found it: he was certain that it wouldn't have been amongst the clothes she'd originally brought to Galactica.

He stood as she approached and took her outstretched hand, drawing her closer so he could kiss her cheek. The subtle scent of her perfume washed over him.

"You look stunning," he said softly, holding her hand a moment longer.

"Thank you, Bill." Her smile was radiant and her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the compliment. She cast an appreciative eye over his appearance.

"And you look very dashing," she returned the compliment. "I see you've left the Admiral at home tonight," she continued, as he helped seat her.

"As you did with the President. Well, mostly" he added dryly, glancing at the nearest member of her detail who was impersonating a statue.

"I think Daniel would have put me across his knee and spanked me if I'd suggested leaving them at home," she laughed, referring to the head of her detail.

The waiter took Laura's order for a drink, handed each a menu and departed.

Laura withdrew her glasses from her evening bag, while he withdrew his from his jacket pocket. They shared a wry smile at this, then both perused the menu.

"Everyone's still staring, aren't they?" Laura said, seemingly absorbed in the menu.

"Mmm hmm," he agreed, doing the same. "I think someone also took a picture when I kissed you."

She looked over the top of her glasses at him, her eyes twinkling. It was a look of pure mischief: a look he had come to recognize as 'Laura the Troublemaker' slipping out from under the control of 'Laura the President.'

"Don't," he warned.

"Don't what?" she countered, with an innocent look.

He gave her a stern look, to which she replied with an exaggerated sigh.

"And we wanted to have dinner in public, why?"

"Well, given our jobs, we're obviously both masochists," he replied with a straight face. Pause. "Or it could be because I'm having dinner with an intelligent, charming, beautiful woman and I want everyone to know. Especially when I get to see you in a dress like that."

A faint blush heated her cheeks and her expression was soft and completely unguarded.

He decided then and there that the whole evening - whatever happened from here - was worth it just for the way she looked at that moment.

Returning his attention to the menu, he gave her a moment to regain her composure.

"See anything you like?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the menu in his hands.

He gave her a steady look over the top of his glasses that spoke volumes.

"Yes. Yes I do."

-------------

"…So both boys are standing there, looking like butter wouldn't melt in their mouth, and their mother asks: 'So, did you have a little fire last night?'

"I thought Lee's eyes were going to pop out of his head, and Zak blurts out: 'How did you know?'

"While they'd cleaned up the pan, the walls, floor, even washed and ironed the curtains - all before we got home - they'd forgotten one thing.

"She points up, and there is a round sooty patch on the ceiling…"

Laura laughed at the story of Lee and Zak's cooking mishap as she sipped her wine.

"You're lucky they didn't burn the house down," she noted.

"They were banned from the kitchen after that," he agreed, sitting back and finishing the last of his own wine.

The dinner had passed pleasantly as they exchanged stories on childhood, work, pets and family. On occasion, they'd even managed to forget their audience.

"May I offer you tea or coffee?" the waiter asked, whisking away their empty dessert plates.

Laura shook her head with a regretful expression. "No thank you. If I have caffeine at this hour, I'll never get to sleep."

The waiter departed unobtrusively again.

She sighed. "Speaking of which, I should probably think about heading back to Colonial One."

It was rather late, Bill realized. He'd been having such a good time, that he'd lost track of the time.

They were silent as they walked arm-in-arm through the corridors of the Rising Star to the hangar deck.

"I had a lovely time tonight, Bill," Laura said as they stopped by her shuttle, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "Thank you."

Ignoring the deck crew and the Presidential Detail, she leaned in and softly kissed him. It was sweet, brief, but oh so full of promise.

"I'll see you later in the week."

As he traveled back to Galactica aboard his own Raptor, he was aware he still had a smile on his face.

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	2. Take me out to the ballgame

**Chapter 2 - Take me out to the ballgame**

**Colonial Fleet newscast**

_"…And we're only two days away from the first game of the Colonial Fleet Pyramid Competition, which kicks off with a match between the Galactica Gorgons and Colonial One Phoenix. Phoenix represents the smallest ship's complement in the ten team league and it is likely that only the presence of members of the Presidential security detail on the team allows them to compete at all. _

_"The Gorgons are odd-on favorites to win at this stage, but the patron of the Phoenix - President Laura Roslin - says not to count her team out yet. According to the President, the Phoenix - also commonly being called 'Roslin's Reds' - have been training with former Caprica Buccaneers star player Samuel T. Anders, and may surprise everyone on the night. _

_"In other Presidential news, there has still been no word from either the Roslin or Adama camps on the dinner shared by the two leaders on the Rising Star almost a week ago. Reports from other diners said the pair were enjoying what appeared to be a romantic rendezvous. One patron was quoted as saying: "they looked so sweet together…"_

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Adama switched the wireless off with an irritated flick of his fingers and snorted: "Sweet!"

As if on cue, the phone rang.

"Adama."

"Sweet!! Sweet??" Laura said with mock-indignation, then laughed. "I've been called many things in the past, but I don't believe 'sweet' has ever been one of them."

"It's not one of the first words that comes to mind when I think of you," he said dryly, sitting back comfortably on the couch.

"Oh?" Dangerous tone. "And just what words **would** spring to mind, Admiral?"

He grinned.

"Well… Stubborn. Determined. Forceful. Obstinate." Pause. "And of course intelligent; charming; attractive." Pause. "With a lovely smile - like the one on your face at the moment."

There was silence for a moment, then: "And you know I'm smiling because…"

"Because I know **you**, Madame President. And you should smile more often."

"You're just trying to butter me up because you know my team is going to kick your team's butt."

"In your dreams, Roslin," he declared. "You may have snagged Mr Anders as a coach - by completely underhanded means, I might add, considering he's married to one of **my** pilots…" there was a snort of laughter at the other end of the line. "- but you're delusional if you think that Roslin's Reds have a hope in Hades of beating my boys and girls."

"Roslin's Reds," she growled. "I thought nicknames weren't usually bestowed until after competition started?"

"You're lucky, actually. I heard what one of the alternatives was."

"I don't think I want to know."

He waited. She would break down and ask. He knew she would. It was just a matter of…

"All right." Exasperated sigh. "Tell me: you know you want to." 

"Would I do something like tha…?"

"Don't make me come over there and bust you back down to ensign, Adama," she growled.

"The President's Airlocks."

"The Pr…" she spluttered to a stop. "Was that Lieutenant Thrace's idea by any chance?" she continued in an ominous tone.

"I'm bound by an oath of silence to protect the identity of the originator," he said sententiously.

"I'll bet," he heard her mutter.

There were a few moments of comfortable silence, then she sighed.

"Well, I should probably get back to work and let you do the same."

"So we're still going to the game together, even though we'll be bitter rivals on the night?" he asked.

"If you can stand dating the enemy."

"I'll make an exception this time."

-------------

"Questions?"

The press corps clambered over each other, shouting out questions.

"Tom - are President Roslin and Admiral Adama lovers?"

"Is it true the President is carrying his love child?"

"Are they planning on getting married?"

"Quiet!" Tom Zarak bellowed over the din. After a moment, the room fell silent.

"I see you don't have any questions about the actual briefing I just gave, so let's deal with this issue right now.

"It has always been Colonial Government Policy to respect the private lives of its leaders. Laura Roslin and William Adama are two unattached, consenting adults. If they choose to see each other - or any one else - it's their own business. They don't need the press or anybody else intruding upon their relationship."

"What about the people's right to know?" Playa interrupted.

Zarak brandished a piece of paper in the reporter's direction.

"President Baltar had a number of… liaisons… while he held the office," he said, looking directly at Playa. "I seem to remember a distinct lack of press coverage concerning those." The reporters were all looking at the paper, wondering…

"I have here a list of at least ten names… Women who can all be verified as having an intimate relationship with the former President. Perhaps you'd care to interview there women and do a retrospective?" He offered the paper to Playa, who declined to take it, and he hid a smirk. She knew he'd been Baltar's Vice President and didn't know whether Baltar would kiss and tell… So she wasn't sure if **her** name would be on the list. Unfortunately for her, Baltar **was** the type to boast about certain things… especially to his Vice President.

"What about the chain of command?" a young black reporter asked.

"That's a very good question, Joe. I haven't yet spoken to the lawyers on this, but if you think about it: in this situation, **everyone** in the Fleet is basically in the chain of command."

The reporter tried to interrupt, but Zarak bulldozed over the top of him.

"So when a person is elected President, should we require them to divorce their wife or husband? Should we require that a President who is single remain so with no possibility of companionship for the duration of their term? Neither of the solutions I mentioned is healthy for the person involved." He half-shrugged, and flashed them a charming smile. "And particularly undesirable, from where I'm sitting."

There were a few chuckles - his fondness for female company was well-known.

"The President and the Admiral are not sneaking around having clandestine meetings. They're trying to have what passes for a normal private life in this fleet. This administration understands that people may be curious, but we ask that you respect the privacy of their personal lives.

"Thank you."

-------------

The raptor door swung open and Bill saw red: the red of a dress he hadn't seen since a certain memorable night on New Caprica. Laura stood in the doorway, her Pyramid team behind her. He cast an appreciative eye over her appearance as she walked down the wing, then offered her his hand to disembark. The amused glint in her eye, and the almost-smile hovering around her lips let him know his appreciation had not gone unnoticed.

"I see the color still suits you," he said in a low voice, as he led her from the hangar deck with a light touch on her back. "But your plan to distract the opposition by looking so lovely is not going to work."

She laughed, her eyes sparkling at the compliment.

"It's the only red clothing I own," she protested. "And if we're going to be 'Roslin's Reds', I may as well look the part."

-------------

**Colonial Fleet newscast**

…_"The atmosphere is electric here in the stadium tonight. I haven't seen people this excited since… well, since one of the games back on the home worlds. Of course, it looks very different to an old-time game. With new clothing being in such short supply in the fleet, the fans aren't decked out in their team colors like they would have been back then, but most supporters have tried to at least have an armband in the Gorgon's grey-and-blue, or red for the Phoenix._

_"Speaking of red: the President arrived on the arm of Admiral Adama s short while ago, looking absolutely lovely in a casual red dress. And the looks the two were exchanging were definitely smoking… However, they separated shortly after their entrance, and are currently in their respective teams' staging area, lending moral support…"_

_muffled cheer_

_"That cheer you just head is for tonight's umpire - former Caprica Buccaneers guard Jack "Rally" Robinson, who has just entered the stadium and is waving to the crowd - and his former team mates, who are seated together in the stands._

_"The President, Admiral and team captains are joining him in the center of the court for the credit toss"…_

-------------

Bill waited with the others as Laura stepped onto the small court-side podium.

"I know you're all itching for this game to begin," she said with a smile, "so I'll make this brief.

"This competition is more than just a sporting event; it shows we are taking back something that was lost with out worlds."

She looked around the faces in the audience, then her eyes met his.

"We need to more than simply **survive** - we need to **live**. We need sports and arts and literature; to have a drink with your friends; to go on dates." This brought a sprinkling of laughter from the audience. "To feel our lives have meaning." She paused, waiting for the cheers to die down.

"This competition wouldn't have been possible without the drive, determination, stubbornness and - sometimes - sheer pig-headedness of the former Caprica Buccaneers." More cheers, as she waved her hand toward the stands, in the direction of the surviving team mates. "So if you see them after the game, buy them a drink." Laughs from the audience and wide grins and a few thumbs-up from the people in question. "So without further ado, let the game begin."

As the audience applauded, she rejoined the group on-court for the toss.

-------------

"Foul!!" Laura was on her feet, yelling at the umpire with the rest of the Phoenix supporters, as Helo laid out a defender. The break was awarded to the Reds, and the crowd subsided.

Bill looked at her, amused, as she sat back down.

"What?" she challenged.

"Oh, nothing," he said mildly, returning his attention to the game.

-------------

In the end, the Gorgons won, but by much less of a margin than had been predicted by the bookmakers.

The after-game atmosphere in Joe's bar was festive, to put it mildly. The beat box was turned up loud, the lights low, and the patrons were celebrating - even the supporters of the losing team.

Laura had rung the bell hanging on the end of the bar as they'd entered the establishment, and announced that the first round was "on the Admiral", much to the crowd's delight.

Then, drinks in hand, they had retreated to a relatively quiet corner of the room, watching the antics of the younger party goers with amusement.

"Thirty years ago, that would have been me," he said to Laura, indicating Starbuck's wild victory dance. They sat close together on a bench seat, so they could hear each other over the din.

"Hard to imagine that," she replied, leaning closer to him.

"Viper pilots," he shrugged self-deprecatingly, taking a sip of his ale. "They tend to be a little…"

"All brawn and no brains? Insane risk-takers?"

"Something like that," he agreed.

"Sometime you'll have to tell me how you got your call-sign," she said, eyebrow raised with curiosity.

He mumbled something non-committal, the heat rising in his cheeks. He really didn't want to get into that - especially with **her**.

A smile hovered around her lips as she sensed his discomfort with the subject.

"So…" he cast about for a change of topic. "I didn't know you were a Pyramid fan."

She looked at him a moment, as if deciding whether to let him off the hook, then relented.

"Until New Caprica, I wasn't."

He must have looked puzzled, because she elaborated: "The resistance used to meet during Pyramid games - both on the court and in the stands. There weren't many places people were allowed to congregate: the marketplace - which was patrolled heavily; the school - which most members of the resistance had no business being near; and Pyramid games." She rested her elbow on the table and propped her chin up with her hand, looking reminiscent. "It was one of the only enjoyable things we did while the Cylons were there. Saul and Galen coached me in the finer points of appreciating the game." She smiled. "You should see Tory play - she's quite a demon on the court."

"Tory!"

She looked amused at his disbelief.

"Ye, Tory. If she hadn't dislocated her shoulder when that raptor crashed into us, she would have been playing tonight."

He stopped himself from shaking his head - trying to imagine the slender, immaculately-groomed Presidential aide playing against someone with the raw athletic power of Starbuck. The girl looked like a stiff wind would blow her away.

"Anyway, I'd never ever watched a broadcast, let alone been to a game, so I had to learn to enjoy it - or at least **look** like I was enjoying it."

She took a sip of her drink.

"We never got around to finishing that conversation on the good times on New Caprica, did we?" he observed, settling back on the bench and stretching his arm out along the back of it.

"No we didn't, Sir," she replied, half-turning to look back at him, her leg brushing against his.

He looked down at the leg, then let his eyes wander slowly back up her body to her face.

"I'm glad you managed to hang onto the dress," he said. "It really does suit you."

"Thank you," she whispered, her gaze holding his. His arm shifted from the back of the bench, to around her shoulders, drawing her closer. He could feel her breath against his face; feel the heat rising as they moved closer. Her eyes drifted closed as their lips touched and…

"Hey… why don't you two get a room!" someone yelled.

They broke apart, and Adama looked around for the perpetrator of the comment, ready to tear them a new one.

It had been Hot Dog, although it was clear he hadn't been directing the comment at his superiors, but at Starbuck and Anders, who were enthusiastically making out on the dance floor.

By the time he turned back to Laura, she was sipping her drink with a wry smile.

He raised his own glass to her, acknowledging the thought that lay behind that smile.

"This feels a little like that night," he said, continuing their conversation. "Relaxed atmosphere, party, drinks, dancing… All we need are some of your… uhm… 'herbal' cigarettes to complete the picture."

She looked at him a moment, then reached inside her bodice and pulled out a familiar looking stick. There was a wicked glint in her eye as she offered it to him.

"Last one left," she said.

He took it, slowly rolling it between his fingers.

"Tell me, Madam President, do you always walk around with your stash inside your shirt."

She laughed. "Well, if **you** had to deal with the Quorum on a regular basis…" They both chuckled.

"I was saving it, actually."

"For what?"

"For us," she said softly. "For a time when we could relax again; when we didn't have to worry about being the President and the Admiral, but could just be Laura and Bill."

He looked down at the cigarette, then back to her.

"I don't suppose you have a lighter in there?"

-------------


	3. Star gazing

**Chapter 3 - Star gazing**

"How soon until it gets fixed?" Adama asked the head of the maintenance crew.

The woman shrugged.

"We're tracing through control circuits now," she said. "Could be ten minutes, could be a couple of hours."

He looked at Dee, who was standing at his side.

"Where are the Quorum delegates at the moment?"

"In Joe's bar," she replied.

"And the President?"

"Her shuttle is inbound. ETA seven minutes."

He ran a frustrated hand through his short cropped hair. "We can't ask the Quorum of Twelve to meet in the bar!"

"Sir, I was thinking," Dee suggested in that quiet manner of hers. "What about the observation deck? It's large enough, and has sufficient seating."

He nodded: it was a good suggestion. And the only practical place they had, considering the problem with the ward room.

"Very well. Find Helo. Get him to escort the delegates to the observation deck in half an hour. Meanwhile, you go and roust people out of there, and scare up a cleaning crew if you think the room needs it."

"Yes sir," she said crisply. "And the President?"

"I'll escort her to my office, to wait."

He caught a look flash across his daughter-in-law's face, before she schooled it into proper military impassiveness. It was a mixture of curiosity, speculation and a certain amount of 'oh gross!'

-------------

Bill waited in parade-ground at-ease stance as the raptor was brought into the hangar bay and its hatch unsealed. Waited patiently for his first glimpse of Laura Roslin since their date at the pyramid game four days before.

The bi-weekly papers had been distributed two days ago, and they'd made the front page on all of them - complete with pictures. Most of the articles that went with the pictures were sheer gossip and speculation, but some were ascribing darker motives for the romance. If those stories were to be believed, either Laura was trying to gain tighter control of the military, or he was trying to get his hands on the presidency.

Actually, he wouldn't mind get his hands on the presidency… although, not in the way the reporters were suggesting. He repressed a wayward grin at the thought as the raptor door lifted and the Presidency herself was before him. He offered her his hand to help her disembark, aware of the eyes of the deck gang on them.

"Madam President," he greeted her.

"Admiral Adama," she returned with equal formality, although he could see the smile lurking in her eyes.

"I'm afraid there's been a problem with the environmental controls in the ward room," he said as he escorted her from the hangar deck. "We've had to move your meeting to the Observation lounge."

She nodded understanding.

"Until we can get the new venue set up, the Quorum members are currently in Joe's Bar," he made a face, which she echoed. "Maybe another twenty minutes, or so."

Laura turned to her aide, who was trailing along behind them unobtrusively.

"Tory, would you mind keeping an eye on things in there?"

"Of course, Madam President."

"In the meantime, you can wait in my office." Cognizant of the ears listening in on their conversation, he deliberately didn't say "cabin". It seemed that most of his crew happened to be just wandering through the hallways that connected the hangar deck and his office. Most of them managed professional faces, but he caught more than a few grins once they had passed. Maybe they thought that the "environmental malfunction" was just an excuse for him to get Laura into his cabin.

Once through the hatch of his cabin, Laura let out a sigh of relief.

"Well, that was fun," she commented. "Is it going to be that way every time I visit Galactica?"

"Hopefully not," he replied. "They're just getting used to the 'old man' having a life."

She caught sight on the stack of newspapers on his desk, and rifled through them.

"I thought that was a nice shot," she said, holding one of them up for his inspection. "I was thinking of asking for a copy."

He joined her at the desk, pulling his glasses on. The picture showed a candid moment of the two of them at the ball game. They were both on their feet, an arm around the other, and laughing. Laura looked so natural… so happy.

"If you do, get me a copy as well," he requested, looking over her shoulder. He removed his glasses, and laid them back on the desk. "Tigh brought me copies of all the papers with my morning briefing - couldn't keep the smile off his face."

"Did he say anything?" she asked, turning to face him.

"That it was about frakking time," he replied softly, suddenly very aware of their proximity and also very aware the fact that this was the first time they'd been together - alone - since they had changed the nature of their relationship. Laura's eyes darkened and she moistened her lips, her gaze dropping to his lips. He could feel his breathing becoming faster. 'Work time, Bill,' his mind protested as he reached out and cupped her cheek. He stopped listening to his mind as her hands touched his chest and slid up around his neck.

"Aren't we still on the clock?" she whispered as their lips edged closer.

"I won't tell if you don't."

A soft brush of lips followed - so soft as to barely be considered a kiss. Then another, lips parting. His hand dropped from her waist to her lower back, the other cupping the back of her head, drawing her closer. The kiss became more heated, lips sliding against each other; breathing becoming harsher; hands wandering…

Knock… knock.

Laura pulled back with a rueful smile.

"Still on the clock," she reiterated. She touched her lips, eyes fastened on his. "Lipstick," she warned.

He swiped at his lips and undogged the hatch to find Lee standing there.

"Admiral." He looked over his father's shoulder at the other occupant of the cabin, who was leaning nonchalantly against the desk. "Madame President." His expression was relieved. Relieved that he hadn't interrupted anything, perhaps.

"Captain Apollo," Laura smiled back.

"Dee says the observation gallery is ready for the President's meeting, sir."

"Thank you, Captain," Laura said as she gathered her papers. "Would you mind showing me the way? I don't think I've ever been to that part of Galactica."

"Of course, Ma'am," Lee agreed.

"Admiral," Laura nodded back at him as they left. "We'll finish our briefing after my meeting with the Quorum."

"Of course, Ma'am."

-------------

Five hours later, Toy informed him that the monster Quorum session was over.

"How's she doing," he asked the young woman as she exited the observation lounge.

"Ready to tear her hair out," she said, looking frazzled herself. "You might want to keep your briefing short."

He nodded acknowledgement and stepped into the lounge. The lights were dimmed and it took him a moment to spot Laura's figure slumped on one of the window-side couches.

"That good, huh?" he asked softly, sinking onto the comfortable seat beside her.

"I think my head's going to explode," she groaned, rubbing her temples.

"C'mere." He grasped her shoulder, encouraging her to shift around until her back was to him. Gathering her hair - and resisting the urge to run his fingers through it - he tucked it over her shoulder, then ran his hands over her shoulders and neck, feeling the knots of tense muscles.

She sighed, relaxing into his touch. As he worked in silence, he could feel the tension leaving her body.

"If you're ever looking for another career, I'll be happy to write you a recommendation," she said with a contented sigh.

He smiled, gathering her against him.

"I'll keep that in mind."

They sat there for a while in a comfortable embrace, looking out at the stars.

"I'm surprised to find a place like this on a warship," she said at last. "Galactica has always seemed so utilitarian to me: I didn't think it had any windows at all."

"Windows tend to be a structural liability for a warship," he replied.

"So why have this one?"

"It's in a fairly protected position, which gives it some protection," he explained. "But that's not the reason for its existence. Years ago, the shrinks found having windows helps combat claustrophobia - which is always a problem on warships." He paused, smiling. "And of course, since we've been on the run, it's a place where young people go to… get to know each other."

She twisted in his arms, so she was still half-reclining, but looking up at him.

"So we're in the local make-out spot," she smiled, reaching up and running her fingers through his hair.

"Uh-huh."

There was no more conversation as lips touched and parted; hands explored - innocently at first, but then straying into forbidden territory as the kisses grew more heated. He pulled her shirt untucked, and caressed the bare skin beneath, reaching higher…

The lights in the room snapped on.

"Okay, lovebirds," a strident, cheerful voice came from the back of the room. "Time to make way for the next group…"

The petty officer who was in charge of scheduling the room for recreational purposes came to a stuttering halt as she realized just who she had interrupted.

"Admiral… I…"

Laura turned her face into his shoulder and he removed his hand from beneath her blouse.

"As you were, petty officer," he ordered. He could feel Laura's body shaking against his, and could feel an uncharacteristic blush heating his cheeks. "We'll be out in a minute."

The woman almost ran from the room, the hatch clanging shut behind her.

Laura lifted her head and he discovered she was laughing, though a blush also stained her cheeks.

"Oh, did you see that poor woman's face!" she gasped, when she could talk again. "She looked like she'd walked in on her parents making out."

She climbed to her feet, tucking her shirt back in and smoothing her hair.

He followed suit, refastening his tunic, embarrassment still showing on his face.

Her hand cupped his cheek. "Don't worry so much about it, Bill," she said. "Yes, it will be all over the fleet before morning, but remember: we're people too, not just our offices. We're entitled to a moment's happiness now and then."

He covered her hand with his, pressing a kiss into the palm, before taking her arm and escorting her from the room.

Heads held high, they strolled toward the hangar bay past a crowd of curious onlookers and one red-faced petty officer.


	4. Pillow talk

**Chapter 4 - Pillow talk**

Bill stretched out on his rack, and dialed the number for the direct line to Colonial One.

"Roslin." Laura's voice was very businesslike; very presidential, despite the fact it was quite late.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself." Her voice softened as she realized who was on the other end of the line.

"How was your day?"

"Quorum. Supply and workforce reports. Same old. Yours?"

"Fleet security. Oxygen consumption and water recycling reports. Same old," he replied, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice.

She must have heard it anyway, because she laughed.

"Just be thankful for the boring days, Bill. They're a lot safer than when things become exciting." There was a rustle in the background. It sounded like...

"Are you in bed?" he asked.

"Uh-huh." Pause. "Do you want to know what I'm wearing?"

He could hear the smile in her voice as she teased him.

"What are you wearing?"

There was a moment of startled silence at her end, as if she was surprised he was playing along. Then she giggled, before clearing her throat.

"Actually I'm naked..." Pause. "Lying here in bed. All alone..."

"Well I should hope so," he replied, rolling onto his back. "If you were naked and **with** someone, I'd probably have an issue with that."

"I'd let you watch," she offered.

"Depends who you were with," he countered.

"Who would you like me to be with," she purred.

"Me." It slipped out; unanticipated; uncensored.

Again, there was surprised silence at her end.

"But if you were here with me, then you wouldn't need to watch."

"No, I wouldn't. But if I was there, we wouldn't have to talk to each other on the phone."

"What would we be doing instead?" she breathed.

"Sleeping." He grinned, as she made a disgusted sound.

"I could think of much better things to be doing if I had a man in my bed for the first time in... well, far too long."

"And those things would be?"

"State secret, Admiral... Although, I **may** be persuaded to tell you one day."

Comfortable silence.

"Have dinner with me?" he asked softly.

"Twice in six weeks? People will start talking." Teasing tone.

"Mmm. Well, given that we seem to get newspaper coverage every time we're seen in public together, I'd say they've already well and truly started."

"When and where do you want me?"

"You asked that last time. If you're not careful, you'll get a very... honest answer to that question."

"That might not be so bad," she said softly.

"No… it wouldn't. But there are some things I'd prefer to say... and do... in person."

He lay there, staring at the bulkhead above his rack, wishing she was lying next to him having this silly conversation. And wondering if she felt the same.

"So… dinner?" she prompted after a while.

"When do you have a free spot in your schedule?"

"Well, after you spoke to her a few weeks ago, Tory has been pretty good at keeping most of my evenings clear. Just in case. I don't think she wants to have to deal with you on the subject again." She chuckled. "The thought of me having a... private life seems to disturb her a little."

"Saul has also been very accommodating… offering to take shifts for me if I need. And very disappointed that I haven't been taking him up on his offer."

"He just wants you to tell him all the juicy details of our torrid affair."

"Torrid?"

"Yes. Don't you read the newspapers?"

"Not if I can help it. Besides, there aren't any juicy details. Yet."

"Yet?? Hmm. You sound very... confident, Admiral."

"More… hopeful," he corrected. Pause. "How's tomorrow night for you?"

"Perfect," she replied with a yawn

"Go to sleep, Laura," he said tenderly. "You sound like you need it."

"Mmm..." she agreed. "'Night."

"Sleep well."

-------------


	5. Another dinner

**Chapter 5 - Another dinner**

_This is an abridged version of this chapter, to conform with standards. If you are of the appropriate age, the full version can be found on the Survival Instinct archive. _**  
**

**---------------------------------------- **

Bill lit the last candle then surveyed the table, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Plates; cutlery; glasses; napkins; candles. The only thing missing were flowers: those being virtually impossible to obtain since the destruction of Cloud Nine. He dimmed the main cabin lights, leaving only the lamps on, and contemplated his collection of recorded music. Would music be too much? Did it scream "seduction in progress" or was it the perfect romantic touch?

There was no time to consider the question, as at that moment the hatch opened and in stepped Laura. Coolly elegant in her black suit, her red hair shining in the corridor lights. She stopped just inside the door, her eyes quickly assessing the scene, then turned and did something she'd never done in his cabin before: spun the locking wheel of the hatch and secured it.

Bill swallowed hard: apparently there was no doubt in either of their minds just what was being contemplated here tonight.

"If I'd known you were going to go to this much trouble I would have worn my red dress," she said with a smile, leaning back against the door. Her voice was low and smooth, and seemed to make the cabin feel five degrees warmer.

'Laura, if you'd worn that dress it would be on the floor right now and I'd be taking you up against the bulkhead,' he thought. He cleared his throat, trying to banish the very vivid images that accompanied the thought.

"That would definitely have set my crew's tongues wagging," he said lightly.

She looked at him with knowing eyes - as if she'd somehow heard the unvoiced thought.

"Your crew were gossiping about us even before we started dating, Bill," she pointed out, moving further into the cabin and stopping a couple of feet from him.

"Yes, I suppose they were," he said, resisting the urge to loosen the collar of his casual shirt as the temperature in the room climbed higher the closer she came. "And with the constant newspaper coverage we're getting…"

"People love to gossip," she said softly, reaching out a hand and lightly touched his chest. "The more salacious, the better."

He covered the hand with his own, feeling his heart thundering in his chest.

"Drink?" he asked, trying to force his body back into equilibrium from the heightened state her touch had produced.

She nodded. "Please."

He could feel her eyes on his back as he poured two glasses of wine. As he handed one to her, her fingers slid over his. Quite deliberately, he was sure.

"Thank you," she said, taking a sip; her eyes never leaving his.

He limited himself to a short nod, wrapping his fingers around his own glass: concentrating on that, rather than the beguiling woman in front of him.

'Slow and steady, Bill,' he reminded himself. No matter how desperately he wanted to reach for her. The rewards of a slow seduction were tenfold; something youngsters often failed to appreciate as they jumped straight to the "good part."

"I was about to put on some music," he said, taking a sip of the wine. "Perhaps you could do the honors while I check on the dinner?" He gestured to his collection of recorded music.

"Of course," she agreed, pulling her glasses from a pocket.

When he returned from the kitchenette, he was confronted by a magnificent sight.

Laura had removed her jacket and was standing in front of the shelves, leaning forward to examine the titles of the recordings. He let his gaze slowly wander up her legs, then linger on her taut, rounded backside which was being displayed to perfection by her posture and short, tight skirt.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need some help here," she confessed, straightening up. "I'm not familiar with a lot of these works. I wouldn't want to choose something… inappropriate."

"Of course." He moved close behind her; close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. As he reached past her to the shelf, his hand rested lightly on her hip. For balance, of course.

"This should be… suitable," he said in a low voice, his breath stirring her hair.

With a light caress he pulled back, feeling her shiver beneath the touch. He pretended not to notice the reaction, as he put the recording in the player. The sound of instrumental music filled the cabin. It was lush, sumptuous and unashamedly sensual. Laura's eyes drifted closed and her lips curved into a smile as she let the sound wash over her.

"Mmm… nice. I'll have to get a copy of this."

He watched her sway to the music for a moment, then couldn't stand it any longer. He placed his drink back on the desk and crossed the room to stand behind her. He hesitated a moment, then reached out and gently touched her waist.

She made a contented sound in her throat and leaned into him, letting her head fall back on his shoulder and covering his hands with her own; holding them firmly on her hips as they swayed to the music.

The feeling of her body against his was exhilarating. His lips found the side of her neck and brushed against the sensitive skin, which provoked shivers and caused her to gasp. Her hands guided his in a slow sensual pattern over the curve of her hips and waist as he continued to nuzzle the delicate skin of her neck and throat. So warm; so soft.

She pivoted in his arms so that they were face-to-face; pressed against each other from chest to thigh. Her lips brushed across his: tasting; teasing; while her hand guided one of his from her hips, over the dip of her waist and up to her breasts.

With a light touch, he caressed her through the silky fabric of her blouse. Breaking the kiss to look into her eyes, he popped open a button on the blouse; then a second; a third; revealing her breasts encased in a lacy white bra. With a trembling finger, he traced the soft skin from her shoulder and down over the swell of her breast; then he cupped her, his fingers lightly stroking.

"Bill… oh…" she gasped, arching into his touch. "Ahh… maybe you should turn the heat off in the kitchen, so dinner doesn't get ruined."

His hand stilled in its exploration, then withdrew.

Frak. Dinner. Where had all his resolutions about taking things slow gone? Out the air lock after more than three years of celibacy, possibly.

"Or we could eat now…" he suggested half-heartedly.

Laura's eyes flashed dangerously and she stabbed a finger at his chest.

"William Adama," she ground out fiercely, forcing him back step-by-step. "If you even think about stopping now…" The back of his legs hit the desk. "If you even contemplate it, I'll…"

The rest of her threat was lost as her pulled her close and covered her mouth with a passionate kiss. With a move that would have made a dancing master proud, he reversed their positions, so that she was the one pressed against the desk.

The kiss was hot, demanding and primal. He'd wanted this; fantasized about this for so long, that he couldn't get enough of her. Lack of oxygen finally forced them to break the lip-lock, and he kissed his way down her neck, deftly undoing the remaining buttons of her blouse, his hands roaming over her bare skin. She moaned, her head falling back, as she threaded her fingers through his hair, encouraging him to continue. Not that her needed any encouragement to keep ravishing her.

But there was something he was supposed to remember… something he was supposed to do…

"Dinner," he blurted out, his lips abruptly leaving her breast.

Her eyes were fogged with passion, and it took a moment for his non sequitur to be processed.

"Dinner," he explained. "I should…"

Her fingers on his lips silenced him.

"Quickly," she commanded.

It only took a moment to place the dinner in a warmer drawer, but by the time he returned…

"Frak me," he whispered under his breath, taking in the sight before him.

Laura had divested herself of blouse, skirt, stockings and shoes and was sitting on the edge of his desk; legs crossed and clad only in lacy white bra and panties. Her legs - her glorious legs - seemed to go on forever, although the small part of his brain that was still capable of logical reasoning insisted this was impossible, given that she was close to his height. But impossible or not, there they were.

His eyes raked up her body with tangible force, burning the image into his memory.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he whispered, forgetting in that instant that he didn't believe in the gods.

His shirt was unbuttoned by the time he crossed the intervening space, falling to the floor beneath his feet. As he reached her, one of his arms went around her waist; his other hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to look at him. He felt her legs wrap around his waist, drawing him closer.

"I'm going to have a lot of trouble working at this desk now," he said in a voice rough with passion. "Every time I try, I'll see an image of you… sitting here like this…"

She arched against him, bringing them into more intimate contact.

"So I don't suppose you want to take me here like this, Sir," she said in a breathy voice, looking at him through half-closed eyes.

For their first time together, he knew he definitely wanted her in his bed. But next time… The idea of frakking her on his desk was almost intoxicating…. But then so was the idea of against the bulkhead; or in the shower; or…

He growled, slid his hands under her backside and picked her up, carrying her across to his rack. With care, he deposited her on the bed.

"I'm shocked that you'd make a suggestion like that, Madam President," he said, removing his shoes and trousers in record time. "If your constituents knew…"

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tilted her head back and gave him a downright wicked look, while she ran a finger just under the waistband of his boxers.

"You never know, I might actually get more votes…"

She grasped the waistband of the boxers with both hands and carefully pulled them down.

"My, my…" she murmured, looking at the view that had just been revealed. She leaned forward, grasping his hips and he could feel her breath across his…

He almost groaned as she pulled back without making contact.

"Have you left word that you're not to be disturbed?" she asked, somehow managing to look very presidential, despite their position and lack of clothes. "Unless at least four base stars manage to track us down, I don't want to hear that telephone ring, or have someone knocking on the hatch."

He nodded.

"Good. We wouldn't want any more interruptions…"

He tilted her head back and took possession of her lips with a searing kiss, relishing her moan. Her underwear quickly joined his on the floor as he pushed her down onto the bed, covering her body with his own.

She was responsive beyond his wildest dreams, writhing and arching beneath him as he explored her body.

"Bill! Please!!" she begged, tossing her head back and forth on the pillow. "I need… I need you… ahh!!!"

Her hands urged him deeper… faster… then he felt her spasm, as she cried out in pleasure. It didn't take much more for him to join her, spiraling into wave after wave of ecstasy.

-------------

It was later… much later… by the time they got around to eating dinner. The candles had burned low, but the food was still edible. He sat at the table wrapped in his bathrobe, while Laura wore one of his t-shirts… and nothing else. Something he found incredibly sexy and immensely distracting. As were the constant looks and caresses they exchanged throughout the meal.

They had barely finished eating when the phone rang.

"You've got to be frakking kidding me," Laura muttered.

"Adama."

"Somebody reported hearing screams from your cabin," the gruff voice of Saul Tigh filtered through the handset. "Thought I'd better check…" He hung up on his XO.

Laura raised an interrogative eyebrow.

"Wrong number," he said shortly.

She let the matter go, clearing the plates from the table and dumping them in the kitchenette. He watched her bare legs with unabashed appreciation as she moved about the cabin.

As she returned she caught him… appreciating, and prowled across the room.

"Yes?" she said, pouring herself into his lap.

"Oh, nothing." He wrapped and arm around her waist and slid a possessive hand over her legs. "I was thinking - I wanted to take things slowly tonight, but a certain attractive red-head overturned my plans.

"But if you think about it, we've been taking things slowly for three years," she said, tracing the skin revealed by the neckline of his robe with a finger.

"True," he agreed.

"And fast can be good too," she continued, giving his earlobe a provocative nip.

He gasped, then captured her mouth for a leisurely kiss, his hand straying under the hemline of the shirt.

"Stay here tonight?" he whispered as he kissed her neck.

There was a certain… stillness in her body; as if she were trying to find a way to say "no" without hurting him.

"You don't have to," he said, giving her a graceful way out. He knew she had to consider the political implications of such an action. She placed her fingers over his lips, stopping the words.

"I wouldn't want to scare your crew in the morning when they bring you your morning reports. Besides, it's a little hard to appear Presidential when you're in bed, naked and looking like you've been well-frakked."

"You'd be surprised," he disagreed, smoothing down her hair. "And I've never seen you looking more beautiful than you do at the moment."

Her eyes glowed at the complement.

"Besides," he continued in an off-hand tone, "my crew already have a fair idea of what went on here tonight."

She looked puzzled. He jerked his chin in the direction of the hatch.

"You forget we've both got a guard on duty outside that door. The cabins aren't **that** soundproof."

He was amused to see a blush heating her cheeks.

"Oh gods!" she said, burying her now-scarlet face in his shoulder. "I have to stay now - forever. I can't go back out and face them."

He rubbed her back consolingly, just enjoying the feel of her against him. After a while, the tension left her body and her color returned to normal.

"I could live with you staying here forever," he whispered into her hair.

She pulled back so she could look at him, her heart in her eyes.

"Stay?" he repeated, stroking her cheek.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded.

"I'll stay."


End file.
